


fever to the form

by theexistentiallyqueer



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (for both of them), Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, first time anal sex, sexually inexperienced Goro Akechi is my jam and i will die on this hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24562453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theexistentiallyqueer/pseuds/theexistentiallyqueer
Summary: 'cause you were never emptyand we've been here beforeyes, we've been here beforebut now there's always plentyyet still we ask for moresinging fever to the form
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 193





	fever to the form

**Author's Note:**

> Ambles back to posting shuake fic months later with this self-indulgent PWP. Akira and Goro are in an established relationship but haven't done anything involving penetration yet, Goro is sexually inexperienced in general and while Akira isn't, he's never done anal before, so this is new for both of them. I have never written explicit m/m smut before so please be gentle with me. 🙏
> 
> Title from the song "Fever to the Form" by Nick Mulvey. Been dying to use it for a shuake fic for ages.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!

They talk about it a lot beforehand.

It's odd looking down at Goro like this, and heady, and thrilling: the pale expanse of his back, the gentle peaks and valleys of his vertebrae beneath his skin, the small brown mole high on his right shoulder. He can't see Goro's face like this but he can picture it, brows drawn and mouth tense and color high in his cheeks. Akira curls a hand over the sharp edge of Goro's hip, soaking in the heat radiating off his body, and drags his hand lower to palm the soft moon of Goro's ass. Goro sucks in a breath. Akira squeezes him gently with just the barest press of fingernails. Goro swears and jerks against him, brushing up against Akira's abdomen and making his skin buzz.

"Do you _mind_ ," Goro hisses, his voice pitching into a whine when Akira drags his thumb down his cleft and over the tight, sensitive line of his hole. Akira pauses, watching with a strange detached sort of curiosity as he presses his thumb slowly in. Goro buries his face in a pillow and uses it to muffle his whine, the sound catching in Akira's stomach and dragging it somewhere much further south.

_Oh._ Maybe not so detached after all.

He pulls back despite Goro's curse of protest just long enough to squeeze some lube out onto his hand, coating his fingers liberally. How much is too much? He knows Goro's never done this before so Akira starts with the gentle, insistent press of his index finger, Goro tight and shuddering around him.

He moves slow, but when he moves, Goro moves with him. Akira lets him set the pace. Goro jerks his hips back into Akira's palm, slow at first and then faster, needier. When Akira adds a second finger, picking up the pace as he does so, Goro moans, his breath coming in open-mouthed gasps against the pillow. "Akira," he says, and then when Akira's fingers catch on that sensitive spot inside him, "fuck, _Aki-ra_ ," his voice breaking over Akira's name. He doesn't seem to have control over his own voice, over his own deft and silver-sharp tongue.

That thought, _tongue_ , and the image it conjures, makes Akira's dick throb. He's pretty sure he could get off just watching Goro ride his fingers, but he doesn't want it to be over that fast. He wants to hear what other messy, broken sounds Goro can make when he gives his self control up to Akira's care. Akira fumbles with the condom, overeager, and laughs quietly.

"What?" Goro's gotten some of his verbal acuity back, and he's offended by Akira's good humor. He's twisted awkwardly to stare at Akira over his shoulder--the position can't be comfortable, but Goro's always abused his own spine--and his gaze drops from Akira's face to his bare chest and down, to where Akira is pulling himself to full hardness with efficient strokes of his hand.

His eyes are wine-dark and hungry at the sight of Akira touching himself. When Akira settles a gentle hand on Goro's hip, he takes a breath and twists his face away.

"Relax." Akira squeezes his hip.

Goro pulls the pillow in his arms closer and huffs, his ass high in the air and gloriously bare. So wanton for touching. "Oh, get on with it."

Akira rests a hand on either side of Goro's ass, pulling his cheeks gently apart. The seam down his middle is puckered red, flushed and dark; at its center Goro's entrance is shiny with the traces of lube from Akira's fingers. Akira resists the impulse to lean in and trace it with his tongue.

Another time.

He has to shuffle forward on his knees to get the right position. Beneath his hands he can feel the way Goro is trying not to tremble, the understated seismic waves that roll between his bones and shiver just beneath his skin. Akira massages Goro's right hip with his hand, trying to ease him. "Just tell me if I need to stop."

"What you need is to-- _ah_ \--" His words choke off; he struggles for air, sucks it in and holds it as Akira presses the head of his cock against him, past his boundaries and then in. His body freezes up in some arcane semblance of rigor mortis before it slowly, consciously, begins to unspool. "Fuck," he says, and then again, "fuck, aaahh, _fuck_ ," as Akira fills him more. He spills out tiny morphemes of profanity and Akira drinks it up, thirsty in more ways than one. Akira pushes in, and then in further, until the tender, sensitive skin stretched over his pelvis is flush with Goro's backside and they're both trembling against each other. Akira runs his hand from Goro's hip down his thigh, then back up to thread through the wiry hair between his legs. That makes Goro shudder bodily against him, sending tiny lancets of sensation through that main point of contact and into the rest of Akira's body, and Akira half-thrusts against him helplessly.

It should be unreal that it feels this good. Akira has to swallow around his tongue to remember how to use it for actual words.

"Okay?" he asks, and his tongue is still so thick in his mouth that he can't muster anything beyond that. He registers the numb nod of Goro's head in response, but more than that, he feels the way Goro presses up back against him, grinding against Akira's thigh, not inviting him further so much as begging him. _You think that's enough?_ he almost hears, not in Goro's words but in his intention. _Go fuck yourself._

_Not if I fuck you first_ , Akira thinks, the edges of his thoughts fraying into something that's almost on the semblance of delirium. When he pulls out he can feel the way Goro follows him, the way Goro constricts and contracts without him, before Akira thrusts back in. He starts to find his rhythm then, in the way a thrust goes high-- _Fuck, Akira, fuck_ \--lands low-- _harder, dammit, didn't I fucking--ah--didn't I fucking--tell you_ \--and then hits that sweet spot, that sweetest of spots-- _ah--ah--aah--Akira--_

With each thrust of Akira's hips Goro buries his face deeper into the pillow, the rhythm of his movements against Akira's hips becoming less stable, more erratic. The overnight sounds of the city that normally spill into the room are muted beside the sounds of Goro's cries of _fuck_ and _yes_ and _no, I said harder, fuck you, I said harder--aah!_

Akira shifts to curl over Goro for a better angle, bracing himself with one arm so he can lean over the bare length of his back, so that they're spine aligned with spine, his free arm wrapped loosely around Goro's waist to curl a hand around his cock and pump it in time with his own thrusts. He finds his mouth brushing against that sensitive spot between the sharp wings of Goro's shoulder bones, the one that makes him dance: he kisses it and thrusts back harder when he feels Goro jump in response. The angle is awkward to maintain but Akira is glad to take it so he can touch his tongue to each of the sweet pockets of salt pooling in regimented patterns down Goro's back. He can feel the sharp crests and gentle valleys of Goro's spine beneath his lips, every dip and divot between muscle and bone, the sweet, supple, tender lines of his outer flesh, those parts that hold his heart within. Goro's skin is sweet like sea salt and he bucks against each thrust of Akira's hips like an ocean wave.

"I need to," Akira says, or tries to say, the words lost somewhere between one desperate gasp for air and the next.

"It's fine," comes Goro's response, lost in the space between one groan of pleasure and the next.

"If you're sure," is what Akira says, or what Akira wants to say, but he can't hear his own voice over the sound of skin slapping against skin and Goro's labored breathing. He can feel something tightening in his gut, something coiling, not a viper because vipers aren't soft things, but then--neither is this, precisely. It's something sharp and tight and fast and steady and frantic and full, full, full too much of wanting--

Akira presses his lips into the gordian knots that twist between each vertebrae of Goro's spine and loses himself with a hungry moan.


End file.
